


Not the World We're Used To

by blumvale (sailorpipn)



Series: Zombieland [1]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-22
Updated: 2012-10-22
Packaged: 2017-11-16 20:03:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailorpipn/pseuds/blumvale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the Zombie Apocalypse - Jim and Spock are two survivors growing closer and trying to stay alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not the World We're Used To

After growing up in a group home for boys, Jim had always kept some non-perishables in his closet or another place equally hidden from those who might take it from him. He kept boxes of rice-a-roni in between piles of underwear and socks. Cans of soup were hidden in boots or galoshes and packets of pasta were in his pillow case. And even though he hated the way it tasted, he kept powdered milk underneath his bed; much like others his age hid porn.

 

Jim could hear screams coming from the street, but chalked it up to someone watching their television too loudly. It wasn't until the smell of blood wafted in from everywhere that he thought there might actually be a problem. Slowly he got out of bed and even more slowly leaned over to look out his window. He could see people running in the streets. No, that wasn't completely accurate. People were being chased down the streets. With his jaw dropped, he watched as three… things, jumped on a woman and pushed her to the ground. From his third story window it was easy to see the blood and intestine. A wave of nausea hit him. Jumping away from the window, Jim reacted on the instincts that had kept him from getting beaten up in school - He needed to hide.

As quickly as he could, Jim threw his pillows into his closet. He reached under his bed for his gym bag; that too was thrown into the closet. As he moved into his living room he heard a scream from the hall. The things were in the building. For a brief second he felt guilty for not going to his door to see if he could help whoever screamed, but he squashed the feeling down just as fast. Right then, he needed to collect water. Grabbing a few empty bottles from his recycling can, he went to the sink to fill them up.

His door rattled.

It rattled again and Jim, as quietly as he could, tip-toed away from the sink and back toward his bedroom. Hopefully whatever was out there would lose interest in the locked door. When the door wasn't broken down, he breathed a small sigh of relief, but knew he couldn’t relax yet. To put one more barrier between him and whatever was out there, he locked his bedroom door. He threw the water bottles into the closet and with energy only adrenaline could provide, he pushed his desk in front of the door. Jim grabbed his laptop and went into the closet where he did the same with his dresser. He could worry about getting out later. In disbelief of the last few minutes, Jim sat against the dresser and waited. Every so often he could hear screams; whether they were from the hall or the street, he didn't know or care because either way they were too close. Turning on his computer, he saw various half-done posts on news sites and Facebook - _zombies_.

If he hadn't seen them with his own eyes, if he hadn't seen the woman killed on the corner outside his building, he would have thought it was some giant hoax. It would have been funny to think that some amazing hacker had put up posts about people being eaten alive. But it wasn't a joke and Jim didn't know what to do.

When he heard the door to his apartment shatter, Jim's heart leapt into his throat. He could hear grumbling and thrashing coming from the other room. Sitting with his back against the dresser, ignoring the painful way the handles dug into his back, he pressed his legs against the far wall. He was ready to push with his every ounce of strength to keep the closet door closed. The banging on the bedroom door was almost as loud as the pounding of blood in his ears. He waited and waited, still poised to push, to take some kind of action. But if never came. Jim didn't know if his desk was heavy enough to keep the door shut or if the zombie just wasn't interested in what wasn't going to be a quick, easy meal. The sounds coming from his living room ceased, and the whole world outside his closet seemed to quiet.

Jim didn't sleep the first night. Normal sounds like the creaks that come with living in an old building had his neck hairs standing on end and his breathing labored. Part of him ached to leave the closet and look out his bedroom window to see if there was anyone else alive. But he wasn't ashamed to admit he was scared.

He finished one of his water bottles that night and when there were no other options, pissed back into it a while later. His gym bag, which had never actually seen the inside of a gym, held chips and cookies and other sweets that Jim liked to occasionally indulge in. Dinner consisted of Fritos and Doritos. Breakfast the next morning was nutter butters. Later, even though the water was room temperature and it took forever to soften the noodles, he ate some ramen. It was hard not to continually munch on his snack foods; he had nothing to do but wait. Occasionally he would go on his computer and search for any sign that help was coming. But the web was as quiet as the real world.

It was quiet all the time. He wasn't expecting to hear birds chirping, or the wind howling, not since he was in the closet, but he was used to hearing cars pass or honk their horns. He was used to hearing his upstairs neighbors bicker at ungodly hours. He was used to life going on around him.

The second night he slept moderately better, secure that the quiet meant death wasn't nearby. But the next morning brought a whole new state of emergency when he woke needing to relieve himself. With a sense of dread, Jim pushed the dresser back from the door, half waiting for something to push it open the second the barrier was gone. Slowly, he opened the door and cringed at the high pitch whine it emitted. "Shut up!" he urged the door like it would suddenly listen. He leaned his head against the doorframe and looked into his bedroom with one eye. Nothing seemed out of place. Braver, he poked his head out into the larger room and relaxed; his desk was still in place against the door.

Listening carefully for any sound in the next room, Jim pushed his desk away from the door. Not for the first time, he wished his bathroom was connected to the bedroom. Though _this_ was the first time he wished it was connected because of a zombie apocalypse. Before opening the bedroom door, Jim looked around his bedroom for some sort of weapon. Grabbing a baseball bat from the corner, he headed back to the door and opened it with one foul swoop - letting whatever was on the other side meet his bat.

Jim's arms sagged by his sides when he realized there was nothing there. His front door was in tatters and on his way to the toilet; he thought of how he was going to fix it. The door to the bathroom was open and while it seemed like an odd place for a zombie to hide, he was cautious anyway. Pushing the door further open with a loud slam, he made sure nothing was lurking behind it. He smiled happily because he had a glass door shower and didn't have to go 'psycho' on it. He looked back toward his door, waiting to see if his noise alerted anyone to his presence. 'Anything,' his mind corrected. When he just couldn't wait anymore he went into the bathroom and locked the door.

After washing his hands, he was just as careful, peaking out behind the door before going into the living room. He was halfway back to safety when he saw a figure in the hall. Jim took a staggered breath and raised his bat, ready to defend himself. But the figure put his hands up in a defensive gesture.

"I did not believe there was anyone else alive in the building." The man said as he stepped into Jim's apartment. "I have been going to each apartment for survivors and you are the first. I have completed my rounds of the higher floors."

Jim whistled half in awe and half in sadness. He lived on the third of nine floors. That meant a lot of rooms…Jim shook his head, trying to end his train of thought.

"You live in this building?" Jim asked as he didn't recognize the man. But Jim hadn't lived in the building long and was always bumping into new faces while coming in and out.

"I do. I live on the ninth floor and have for three years, two months and five days."

Jim quirked an eyebrow at the precise description. "Have you seen any," he paused briefly, "Zombies?" The word sounded so funny on his tongue even though they had been a reality for more than twenty-four hours.

"I have not. But I have seen what they have left behind."  The man stepped forward again and Jim noticed the gun he had with him.  Seeing where Jim's eyes traveled, the man said, "It is not mine. I took it from someone who no longer has any use for it."

Holding out his hand he said, "I see… My name is Jim Kirk."

"My name is Spock."

"Seriously?" When Spock didn't meet his greeting, he put his hand back awkwardly at his side.

"Yes. My parents were fans of a science fiction television show and named me after one of the main characters."

"Nice of them." They were silent for several moments before Jim asked, "How'd you keep from getting eaten?"

"I believe I did something similar to what you did. I barricaded my door and hid until it seemed safe to come out."

Jim nodded. "Yeah… sounds about right. Um, are you hungry? I have some chips," he jerked his head towards his room. "Or I could whip something up?"

"You think it’s wise to cook when Zombies could come in?"

"Yeah well, you thought it wise to wander around the building. And if you kept guard I'd have the time to make something for us."

Spock was quiet for a moment and Jim felt slightly aggravated by the other man. He didn't have to cook as he still had some chips and stuff in his closet, but after a couple days of junk food anything was looking better. And two people had a better chance of survival than just one.

"I see that your idea has merit. What will you make?"

Jim rolled his eyes. "I'm not a gourmet chef, but I can make some spaghetti with pasta sauce."

Spock was silent again until, "That seems like an adequate meal. The carbohydrates will allow us to keep up our strength. We should have some protein as well. Do you have any meat or tofu?"

"Tofu?" Jim let out a deep belly laugh. "Awe man, that was good." He wiped a tear from his eye, with a grin on his face. It was so nice to not be alone, to be able to act normally with someone. At Spock's serious face he continued, "I think I have some meatballs in the freezer." He opened the freezer to check and pulled out a half empty bag. "Yup, here we go."

"That will suffice."

"I'm glad you approve." Jim countered with another eye roll. While he grabbed pots from the cabinet, Spock turned a chair to face the broken door and sat down. He laid the gun across his lap, ready for anything that may come.

Like it was any other day, Jim started to hum as he turned on the faucet and filled a pot. Then he turned on the stove and put the water on to boil. Opening another cabinet, he pulled out some packets of pasta, not ready for Spock to know that he hoarded some in his hideaway. He was still humming as he grabbed cheese and pasta sauce from the fridge, when Spock interrupted him.

"Would you please stop that?"

"It's just a little humming. There's no harm to it."

"Nevertheless, I find it and your dancing to be a distraction. It does not allow me to keep watch with my complete attention."

"My dancing?" Was Spock watching him?

"Yes, you move around the kitchen in what seems to be a manner of dance."

Jim blushed a tomato red. He hadn't realized he was 'dancing' at all. "Yeah, sure I'll stop." Spock's gaze went back to the door and while still embarrassed, he was grateful that Spock took his job so seriously. Pretty soon two plates of spaghetti and meatballs were ready and set on the table. Spock continued to watch the door, only pausing his attention to take a bite of food here and there. They ate in silence.

When they were done Jim put the plates in the sink and washed them. He knew he wouldn't get a chance later. He filled some more water bottles and tossed them into the bedroom. Then he sat back at the table with Spock. "So… Are you a student?"

"I was."

"Right. Um, what kind of television do you like?"

Spock raised an eyebrow, "When I have time, I watch shows on the history channel."

"That's cool."

The conversation continued stilted and awkward until about an hour later when Spock decided to go back to his own apartment. He was kind enough to wait for Jim to be secure in his room before making the trek back up the ninth floor.

That night Jim slept better, knowing there was someone else in the building with him; knowing that someone else was alive.

 

Knock. Knock. Jim sat up on his 'bed' of blankets. Knock. Knock. Jim didn't think zombies were the polite type, but instead of opening the door he yelled, "Spock?"

"Yes Jim. It is I," Spock yelled back to him.

Quickly Jim un-barricaded himself and went to his living room. He smiled brightly at the other man.

"Morning sunshine," he said happily as he moved around the kitchen to make some breakfast. Grabbing some eggs out of the refrigerator, he started making some french toast. It wasn't something he made often, but considering it was the zombie apocalypse, he figured he'd treat himself. Spock had no comment on the breakfast choice and they were quiet throughout the meal.

When they were done both men put their plates in the sink as Spock turned to Jim. "I think perhaps, it would be better for you to come to my apartment. The door to my home is intact and there is less danger of being attacked should you need to go to the bathroom." He gestured to Jim's bedroom door to the bathroom while he spoke. "We could pack your food and any items you would like to bring with you and go to the ninth floor."

"Um…" Jim was hesitant to leave his apartment. "Don't you think being up that high is dangerous? If the building fills with zombies, how would we get out?"

"I do not think the floor number would make much difference should the building fill with zombies. But I do see your point."

"Naw," Jim scratched at the back of his head. "You're right. Having a good door isn't something to ignore. Let me go grab some things."

"We can always come back down."

"Yeah," Jim agreed as he went into his bedroom closet. He dumped any chip remains out of his gym bag and started to stuff it with underwear and socks.

"I expect you pushed the dresser in front of the door to stay safe?"

Jim jumped at Spock's voice, not realizing the other man had followed him. He knew he'd need to work on his listening and observation skills if he wanted to stay alive. Spock could have easily been a zombie.

"Yeah I did. I also pushed my desk in front of the other door." Some shirts and a pair of jeans went into the bag as well.

"I see."

Once the gym bag was filled with clothes, and an extra pair of sneakers he was able to shove in, Jim grabbed his pillows and headed back towards the kitchen. He threw all the food he could into the pillowcases before turning to Spock. He was as ready as he'd ever be.

Spock led the way to the emergency staircase, his gun cocked and ready. The trip was slow when Jim thought it would be fast, but the other man was so cautious that just getting up one flight of stairs took several minutes. When they finally reached the ninth floor, Jim's legs burned and he was slightly out of breath, but Spock didn't seem affected at all.

"Why couldn't we have taken the elevator?" Jim asked as they walked down the hall. “Of course he lives at the far end,” Jim mused while Spock unlocked his door.

"It is better to take the stairs as an extra form of cardio." Jim could only nod in agreement.

The apartment was much like his own - the kitchen, living room, and bathroom connected together, and the bedroom and closet parallel. But unlike his own apartment, this one lacked a lived in feel. Part of him couldn't believe Spock had lived in the apartment over three years. Except for some old newspapers and cups on the dining table, and a raincoat slung over a chair, there was nothing that made Jim think someone had entered the apartment, much less lived there. He moved towards the couch and dumped his things on the floor.

"If you would like to sleep there you can, but the last few nights I have pushed the couch in front of the door." Spock said as he walked into his bedroom.

"Oh… Well then where should I sleep?" In his mind Jim was already thinking about trying to get his bed up to the ninth floor or taking a bed from another apartment, but when he followed Spock into his room he saw that Spock had already taken the liberty of doing so.

"After I came back here yesterday, I moved this here." He gestured to a bed that looked like it used to be in a dorm room, an ugly metal frame and thin mattress.

"Oh wow, thanks Spock. Guess you were pretty confident that I'd say yes. But, you know, I could have helped you."

"It was no bother."

Taking that almost as a dismissal, Jim went back to the living room and sorted though his pillowcases, pulling out the food he'd thrown in. Out of habit, he left some pasta in each pillow case. Then he grabbed his things and threw them onto the bed. Spock had already put sheets and a blanket on the bed. Jim sat down on the bed, trying to think of what to do next.

Spock interrupted his thoughts. "If you would like to take a shower, you may do so."

Jim flashed him a grin? "Is this your way of telling me I smell? Or are you just trying to get me out of my clothes?"

"I am doing no such thing," Spock insisted and turned his back as he walked to his desk and fiddled with some papers. Jim didn't miss the red flush that worked its way up Spock's neck.

"I'm just teasing, nothing to worry about. But thank you, a shower does sound like a great idea." Not wanting to embarrass the other man any more, Jim grabbed a change of clothes out of his gym bag, went to the bathroom, and showered.

That night they had an early dinner and when the sun started to set Spock insisted on shutting off all the lights. The apartment couldn't look lived in from the outside. And so they settled into a routine. They would wake early, a little after sunrise, and Jim would cook breakfast. Slowly conversation grew between the two men, but Spock was still quiet most of the time. Jim took comfort from Spock's silence; it was better than being alone and often when Jim spouted whatever came to mind, Spock would listen intently, hanging on to every word. They would read books and occasionally listen to music, just loud enough for them to hear. Jim found himself nappy at odd hours out of boredom. Then Jim would make lunch and dinner. Any meat they had, had started to go bad, but they had a surplus of pastas and canned soups. Spock was always good about doing the dishes afterward. If it was necessary, they would travel to other rooms for supplies. They would go together, Spock first with the gun and Jim close behind carrying as many bags as he could. The building reeked of bodies in the halls and in apartment. Jim often found himself breathing through his mouth as best he could and thanking whatever deity had kept him and Spock safe. In an apartment down the hall they found a treadmill and some weights so they started making daily trips there to keep in shape. One would stand guard while the other worked out and then they would switch. Then the sun would set and the lights would go out and there was nothing but the sound of breathing assuring them that they weren't alone.

 

One week passed into two and then two passed into a three and before Jim knew it, it had been a month. They had survived a month of the Zombie Apocalypse.

Jim was making a scrambled egg breakfast when Spock came up behind him. "You are humming."

"Yeah so?" Jim had started humming again after the first week with Spock and this was the first time he had brought it up. Jim stopped cooking as Spock moved closer to him, almost flushing against his body. Jim wasn't dumb, he knew that Spock often watched him when he moved around the apartment. He also realized that Spock was a good looking man, tall and lean with piercing eyes.

"You make it hard for me to concentrate when you do that." said Jim.

"Do I?" Forcing his hands not to shake Jim turned off the stove and turned to face the other man. Slowly, Spock leaned in to kiss him and while he wanted it, really he did, at the last possible moment, Jim put his hand on Spock's chest to stop him. "Wait… Are you sure you want this?"

"Yes I do." Spock leaned in again and Jim felt an erection that wasn't his own pressed against his leg. But Jim maneuvered out of his arms.

“Spock, I like women." He paused, trying to organize his thoughts. "Or at least I did until all of this."

"You think zombies made you like men?" Spock asked, his lips quirked in a slight smile. It was easy to see he was amused.

"No, you ass," Jim glared at him, but there was no heat behind the action. He made sure his eyes only focused on Spock's face and went nowhere below the belt. "I think that this," he gestured his arms wildly, "Living together, has influenced us to do things that we normally wouldn't do." He crossed his arms in front of his chest like a petulant child.

"Jim, I assure you, I have been attracted to you from the very day that I met you and when I saw that you have survived, I was quite grateful." Spock moved closer to him and slowly, but forcefully pushed Jim's arms back to his sides.

"Yeah?"

"Yes, when I saw you moving into the building, your shirt clung to you and you had sweat on your brow from moving boxes."

Spock was cut off by a grumbling sound coming from outside the door.

 

Thump.

 

Thump.

 

The zombie or zombies were trying to get in. The couch that was normally in front of the door was against the wall. They hadn't moved it back in place the night before and that was coming back to bite them in the ass. The door started to splinter from the attack. Spock moved further back from the door and Jim echoed the movements. When Spock grabbed the gun that had become like another limb over the past month, Jim groaned at not having something himself. He vaguely remembered having a baseball bat, but realized he'd left it back in his own place.

The door broke further and hands were visible as the door was pushed more and more. Moving towards the stove, Jim grabbed the frying pan, he'd been using. It felt good to have something in hand, the half cooked eggs be damned.

The door broke all the way and the first zombie made into the apartment. Spock shot it in the head and Jim was momentarily amazed by the shot. More zombies came toward them. Spock continued to shoot his gun and Jim swung the pan for all it was worth.

 

Bang!

 

The pan finally made contact with one of the zombies and it went down hard. Immediately, Jim leaned over it and hit it in the head several times until brain leaked out onto the floor. Another zombie came towards him and Jim did an awkward side kick to knock it back. Before it could stand, Spock shot it and the zombie fell down dead… well dead again. Suddenly, Jim was tackled to the ground by a disgusting body. In defense Jim raised a knee to keep the weight off of him and pushed against the 'man's' shoulders. His fingers sunk oddly into the zombie’s skin and Jim felt the urge to vomit. Then the zombie breathed on him, the vile stench of death, and Jim felt bile climb to his throat. The body was gone as Spock kicked it off of him. Bouncing back, the zombie tried to bite Jim, but Spock shot it before it got the chance. Another kill shot right between the eyes. Resting on the floor for a moment, Jim let out a long sigh of relief before taking Spock's offered hand to stand.

Looking around the apartment Jim saw that Spock had taken down six zombies while he'd only taken down one. "I'm gonna have to get a gun." Jim nodded emphatically, hopped up on adrenaline.

"I agree. We are also going to have to find a new place to live and I am in need of more ammunition." Spock seemed as calm as ever while Jim teetered from one foot to the other. "But first," Spock turned to Jim and pushed him into the bedroom. Then he locked the door and pushed his desk in front of it. He leaned his gun against the wall before taking the frying pan out of Jim's hand and tossing on the floor. Jim slowly flexed his fingers. They were sore. He hadn't realized how tightly he had been gripping the pan.

Jim was still looking at his hand when Spock's fingers met his chin and forced him to meet his gaze. "I have desired you for some time." Jim was mesmerized by Spock's eyes; he didn't realize they were moving until his legs hit Spock's bed, and he was forced to sit down. Spock urged him further onto the bed and then leaned over him. "Since you moved in, I have thought you were so beautiful." Spock opened his mouth to continue, obviously thinking he needed to convince Jim of his sincerity. But Jim, chalking part of it up to the rush of still being alive, and part of it to the attraction he did feel for the other man, grabbed Spock's neck and pulled him down to kiss him. As far as first kisses went, Jim had had better. Their noses bumped hard, forcing both men to pull back and find another way to fit together. Jim buried his fingers in Spock's hair, taking pleasure in messing up the perfect bowl cut. Then Spock aligned his hips against Jim's and he felt his eyes roll back at the glorious friction.

They had a lot of things to worry about. They needed more weapons and ammunition. They had no idea if there were more zombies in the building, searching, and waiting for them to try and escape. They needed to find a new place to live.

But as Spock pulled off his shirt and kissed his chest, Jim had no concerns. He was with someone he cared about. They had survived one month and Jim felt confident that they could survive more. So long as they had each other… and they did.


End file.
